inFamous Assassins: Truth of Sons and Daughters
by DarkWolf Publications
Summary: My name is Andrea Quincy, and I have two problems: Abstergo and the DUP. Now I'm rotting in a concrete cell and I have nothing left to do but remember. But it's the memories which hurt the most. Especially when you're forced to relive memories that aren't yours.
1. Chapter 1

**Yet another inFAMOUS fanfiction to add to the Second Kessler universe. I'm pretty sure that this will be the last. This isn't as related to The Second Kessler as Twisted Metal … in fact, you can read this and almost completely understand it without reading The Second Kessler or Glass and Hellfire. But I'd definitely recommend reading those and Twisted Metal as well. It's nice to know what's going on in the background.**

**~Zeta**

I didn't think it would end like this. Trapped in a 9-by-9 foot DUP cell. Bright yellow inhibitor cuffs blocking my powers. There's no way out.

We were on the run. Vince and I. And we had gotten so far. We fought together. Cried together. Made love together. And we were going to live together. But Augustine caught us. And now they're going to kill me.

At the start they threatened to kill Vince if I didn't comply with Abstergo's experiments. But I knew that he would be too useful for the DUP. So, instead, they tortured me. They ripped into my mind and exposed my memories. My brain was turned inside out and they saw… _everything_. Now that they're done with me… now that they've found out that I'm utterly useless to them… they're going to kill me. And there's no Vince, no Ali, no Jake that can save me. I'm alone.

I guess that I should introduce myself. I've had many names over the past five years. But my _real_ name is Andrea Quincy. Vince calls me Andi. But before I met him, I was more than willing to decapitate you if you called me that. He's… changed me in ways I don't care to explain to you right now. But because of me, he's trapped in here, this concrete hell. And now I'm going to die. There's going to be no way out, no salvation. He's saved me so many times, and I can't return the favor even once. I felt the sting of tears come, and didn't fight them_. Can't _even wipe them away with these cruel… _things_ on my hands.

Here I am, lying on the cold, cold ground, curled into a ball. Tears freely rolling down my face and knowing… knowing that I'm about to die. Beaten. So there's nothing left to do but remember.

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

It started when I was fourteen years old.

School was difficult because Dad and I were always moving around— going from place to place. Whenever I'd ask why, he'd always reply with something about work. So his 'work' had us without even a proper home but he'd assure me, everytime, that he was doing it for _my _good. _My good_. How is moving away from a country every six months— before I've even made friends or established a social life _good_ for me? How is having an unstable school education _good_ for me? How is having a TON of stress on my shoulders, because every time we move I get more and more paranoid when Dad constantly looks over his shoulder to see if we're being followed and expects me not to notice— but I _do..._ _good for me?_

But I didn't know the _real_ reason that life had been like this for me. And I didn't know that Dad wasn't lying when he said that it's for my good… 'for my good' as in if Abstergo catches us then we're dead and living like this is the only way we can live and living is 'good'.

And, just as it was with _every other thing_ in my life… it was _my _fault that we were captured. And my fault that Dad…

Isn't around anymore.

It was a normal day. Well, normal as my days usually were. I had just got back from school, back from those annoying lessons of Math and English and History and a whole range of others in which I remained my antisocial self. I would have been happy to remain that way, but I was interrupted in art class by someone who thought it would be a good idea to sit next to me. Next to the 'New Girl' who everyone stays away from. The girl with ink-black hair and scarily violet eyes that just scream Conduit but could only wish that she'd have something interesting in her life like that. The girl trying desperately not to make any friends because she would just leave in a few months anyways, while at the same time aching because no one would talk to her.

"Hey." He reached over and tapped my drawing, _It's a guy? Great. _"This is pretty damn good." I looked up to see a friendly, smiling face. For a moment, I considered ignoring him, but no one had ever complimented my work like that before. Nor had anyone smiled at me either.

So I replied, "Get your hands off. It's ink, you're going to smudge it." _Nice reply, genius. The first person to talk to you in months and your first response is to alienate him?_

He shrugged and took his hand off the drawing. "I've been watching you draw that," _Great..._ "The ink, it just sort of flows onto the page." He made motions with his hands. "It's like watching a river."

"Thanks. Now get your hands off," I shoved his hand away from the rough sketch of my cat, "you're smudging it."

He rolled his eyes, "You're a real gem, you know that? My name's Vince, by the way, not that you care."

"You're right. I don't." I avoided looking directly at his soft brown eyes as I rolled up the drawing and shoved it in my bag, "Now leave me alone."

"Wow." He ran a hand through his outrageously curly hair, "You're so edgy you're cutting me from there."

"Don't you have something better to do?" I shot back, getting a fresh piece of paper.

He looked at me like he was skeptical of my sanity. "It's _art class_. I could throw up on paper and the teacher would give me an A." I couldn't hold back my smile at the unexpected joke and had to turn away from him so that he wouldn't see. I think he still caught the edge of my lips curling up.

"You laughed." I turned back around, and he had the most annoying smirk on his face. "You should try it more often."

"You should learn to mind your own damn business."

He just shrugged, and pulled out a PSP. He sat down and started playing. I noticed that, although he was pretending to keep his attention on his game, he kept giving my sidewards glances, "So, where you from?"

"What part of 'mind your own DAMN business' do you not understand?"

"The part where I'm trying to make small talk in order to have an excuse to look at you."

And to that I had no idea how to reply. But then a miracle happened that almost made me believe in God… the bell rang.

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

I was eating my lunch in a corner of the library, the one place I always manage to find on my first day at every new school, when I heard footsteps approaching. _Oh god, not him again. _I didn't see him but— somehow— I knew.

"So, unnamed person from unknown place," he began.

"Fuck off." I was done with his shit, he was annoying and I wanted to be alone. But he just continued on, like I had never interrupted.

"What do you do for fun?"

"Dude! Do you have _any_ friends?" I slammed my book shut and put my sandwich down, my appetite completely lost.

He raised an eyebrow, "Do you?" I didn't even bother replying. He already knew the answer and was probably doing his damn best to make me feel inferior,

"So we can be besties then," my voice dripping with sarcasm.

He just laughed, "No need to be a bitch about it."

"I'm not the stalker."

He rolled his eyes, "We're in every class together. Almost. I blame the staff."

"Has anyone ever told you how lame you are?" _Just go away._

"Has anyone ever told you how aggravatingly beautiful you are?" I was getting ready to punch his lights out, but when I turned to do it I didn't see what I expected. Instead of a face full of scorn, superiority, or downright hatred, I saw kindness, empathy, understanding, and a hint of infatuation. The light danced on his eyes, and I caught myself thinking that he would make a good subject to sketch. I quickly grabbed a pen and paper, and started constructing the lines that would soon resemble him. He noticed, and tried to move closer and see it, "What're you-"

"Don't move." I waved him away.

"But-"  
>"Don't. Move." I watched as he relaxed, and went back to the position where he first was sitting. I resumed drawing, and before I knew it, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. I looked up, "What class do you have next?"<p>

He tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow, "Study hall, with you."

"Good. Then we stay." I looked down at my paper and began shading his eyes.

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<p>

...

Love.  
>I<p>

Remember


	2. Chapter 2

The memories burn at my mind— tug at my heart. What was I thinking? Remembering the day I met Vince? They're going to kill him now, and it's my fault. I made a choice and it got us here. What did I ever do? Why couldn't I just be a normal girl? No, _no,_ God had to make me a Conduit. Well, where are you now, God? Where are you now that I'm beaten, broken— curled into a ball with an endless river of tears flowing down my face?

The sound of a small clang, metal hitting stone. I don't bother facing the sound. No, I know what it is: the sound of the heavy metal door unlocking. I count the seconds between the clang of the door unlocking and the screech of the door scraping across the ground as it opens. The sounds that are always followed with pain. They open the door to 'talk' and always— _always— hurt _me. I'm also counting down the seconds between the footsteps that follow the opening of the door and the first word. But there's something different about the sound of the footsteps… something that tingles the back of my damaged memory. It's a woman, there's no other reason for her to be wearing… high-heels.

"Hello, Andrea." It's a voice I've never heard before, but there's _something— _maybe it was because she sounded around my age— about it that makes me uncurl my body out of its pitiful position, sit with my back resting on the cold concrete wall and look at her. And I wasn't wrong either, looking at her now, she couldn't be a year over eighteen. She had a light tan and an angular, beautiful face. Straight, black hair fell past her shoulders and she was wearing a white, short sleeved shirt with the DUP's logo emblazoned on the left. Her gray pants were torn up and grungy, and were held up loosely by a canvas belt. The pink vans she was wearing seemed to clash with her outfit, a splash of color against a monotonous background. "My name is Celia Penderghast, I'm here to talk to you about a proposition Augustine has for you." _Augustine_. This filth is working for _her_. I don't bother replying to the filth, settling instead for spitting on the ground in disgust. She gives me a look, something I'd never seen on anyone else's face before. It was almost like an amused twinkle with a hint of a challenge, as if her eyes were saying: _Let's see what you got, bitch_.

So I gave her nothing.

But she still went on and on and on and on and... "Right now, it's pretty much the only option you have… well there's also the option where you give into the _rest_ of Abstergo's experiments— and if you think you think you've seen the worst they can do to you, then you're hopelessly delusional. You _will _die. Vince _will_ die." Bitch. How dare she? _How DARE she?_ "But it doesn't have to happen like that. Join us. There's three of us and we're all pretty much your age, Curdun Cay has space for both you and your Vince. Augustine has a large, large wing and she can take you both under it. You don't _have _to die." Augustine has wings? Oh wait, the filth said she had a wing, as in singular… Wouldn't it be awkward to fly with just one wing? These people are complete idiots. My mind drifts away, eventually creating the image of Augustine strangling this filth with a huge, fluffy pink chicken-wing. The thought drowns out most of her words but doesn't bring a smile onto my face. Finally, I tune back into her voice, "Please, please Andrea, I don't want you to die. You don't understand… _you _matter to… to us. Please, Andrea look at me," I don't, "I can save you. We can save you." I looked at her. She looked like she truly cared. So I raised my head and...

Spat in her face. She blinked in surprise. Then blinked again. Then I saw it. Her eyes, deep violet with a pupil blacker than black and flecks of blue that kept disappearing. Those eyes… are _mine._ My eyes. And she has them. What— what's going on? I feel my breathing starting to speed up and my vision slips out of focus just for a second. What has she… What has she _done to me?_ A screech of metal scratching against concrete snaps me out of a trance that I hadn't even realized I was in. And Celia's gone.

So I can't do anything but remember. But remembering is like dragging a red-hot knife through my sore heart. So I don't remember, instead I sleep.

And remember anyway...

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

There's a flower there. A beautiful flower, just lying there for me to pluck it out of the ground and-

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

Agony, burning agony. Everything around me is on fire. My blood is boiling and my flesh is melting, my skin turned to sand and my bones are ash-

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

Cold, smothering cold. Drowning in an ocean, the salt burning my eyes as I try to fight to the surface. Bodies, floating all around me. Destruction and death everywhere I turn-

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

Light. Calming, soothing. Warmth, spreading through my body. I look up and see Vince smiling. His lips are moving but I can't hear him. He seems to be waiting for some kind of response. I try to answer, but he puts a finger to my lips and shushes me with a smile. The light is glowing behind him, getting brighter-

Hurt

Anguish  
>Oblivion<br>White  
>Black<br>Blood  
>Ink<br>Assassin  
>Death<br>I  
>Remember<p>

There's a flower there. A beautiful flower, just lying there for me to pluck it out of the ground. A tulip with pure white petals. So I lean down and pull it out, making sure not to take any of the straggly roots or dirty soil. A sniff confirms that it smells just as beautiful as it looks. It's rained not long ago, I'm standing not far from a shallow puddle. That's strange, I don't remember it raining. And why is the ground so close to me?

I take a step closer to the clear puddle. It shines, reflecting the sunlight. But the reflection in the water is what catches my attention. _Shit_. _Just what I thought._ I'm still asleep. But no longer dreaming. Abstergo's experiments seem to have payed off. I'm back in the one place I never wanted to return. The reflection that looks back is not mine. It looks alarmingly similar, but it's the face of a girl whose cheeks are slightly chubbier, the face of a girl whose eyes hadn't seen as much sorrow as mine. Not yet, at least. The girl was probably only about eight years old, if that. I tear my eyes away from the water. It's strange being a short infant again— when I look at the sky, I notice it's not the same… and it's not my height that makes it look different. No, the light from the sun has been distorted. Polluted by the air of Victorian London. A place I recognise all too well.

I haven't seen this memory before, but I have a vague idea of the feelings that are going to invade my body, it's routinal. First, the numbness that spreads from my chest and explodes outwards. Then the suffocation, I try to inhale but my lungs refuse to let in any air, I try to exhale but there's nothing to breath out.

And finally, when the suffocation passes, I'm no longer in control. I'm no longer in Curdun Cay. I'm halfway across the world, hundreds of years ago. And my name is no longer Andrea Quincy.

I am Dianne Geneve Quincetta.


End file.
